Bad Business (24 page)

Augustine led the way to the back of the town house, to a dark, secluded room lined with bookshelves. He flipped the wall switch and a brass banker's lamp on the desk went on. The squat desk, another grand antique, sat catty-corner to a green velvet fainting couch. The desk conveyed the same smugness as the fat burgermeisters in the hallway; the couch
was as prim and unforgiving as the spinsters. Tozzi had expected Augustine's study to be beige and blue with pewter fixtures, sort of a George-Washington-slept-here kind of room. He didn't expect it to look like a psychiatrist's office.

“Sit down, Mike.” Augustine indicated the fainting couch as he sat down behind his pompous desk.

Tozzi frowned at the low couch and reluctantly sat on the edge, resting his elbows on his knees. Augustine always made sure he had the power position. He was leaning back in a swivel chair, looking down at Tozzi from behind the desk.

The prosecutor settled in, positioning his index finger on his temple. “So tell me about your theory.”

“Well, you may think this is totally off the wall, but just hear me out, okay?”

Augustine smiled encouragingly and nodded. “I'm listening.”

“I've gone over the security arrangements we had at Uncle Pete's house, and even though it was all put together in a hurry, it was good. The place was fresh. It had never been used before.”

Augustine nodded. “Okay . . .”

“Which says to me that either someone with inside information leaked it to Salamandra's people where we were keeping Giordano,
or
—and this is what I'm thinking now—someone on the inside actually did the job
for
Salamandra.” Tozzi watched for a sign of shock, but there was nothing.

“Ummm . . . Go on, Mike.”

“Now, there were only two offices that knew the exact location of Giordano's safe house—yours and mine.”

“And Marty Bloom knew.”

“Yes, but Bloom was killed, too, so I don't think we can count him as a suspect.” Tozzi laughed.

Augustine joined him, slightly.

“Now, there were only a handful of people at the field office who had detailed on-site knowledge of the safe house.
Basically, it was the six agents who had guard duty and Brant Ivers. Your office, I don't know about.”

Augustine screwed up his face. “You're saying that someone from either the FBI or the U.S. Attorney's office killed Giordano, Bloom, and the two agents. Why?”

“Money, why else? Salamandra must've waved a lot of cash under someone's nose.”

Augustine frowned. “No, no, that's not what I meant. I can see why Salamandra would want Giordano dead, but why kill Bloom and the two agents?”

“Well, see, I'm beginning to think that killing Marty Bloom was as important as killing Giordano. Maybe more important. See, getting rid of Giordano just prevented him from testifying, but killing Bloom created an opportunity to get the judge to declare a mistrial and junk the whole trial.”

“And why kill the two agents?”

Tozzi shrugged. “Cooney and Santiago just happened to be there.”

“That's awfully coldhearted behavior for someone who presumably has never killed before. That is, if we accept your assumption that the killer—or killers—are government employees with no previous criminal record.”

“I agree. It's
very
coldhearted.” Tozzi paused and looked Augustine in the eye. Why was Augustine assuming that the killer was a first-timer? He hadn't said that. He studied the prosecutor's face. It was almost imperceptible, but Augustine's face had taken on a slightly harder edge.

Keep pushing
.

“Now, this is where I come in,” Tozzi continued. “I think the killer somehow wangled it so that the finger would be pointing at me. I dunno, maybe he paid off that reporter Moscowitz to run that story. What I said wasn't really news. It seems to me that it was just tacked on to the end of his article. I dunno, I'm not a writer. But I think the killer's intention was for me to be his insurance policy. If Marty Bloom's murder didn't get the mistrial, having an FBI agent
indicted for the killings definitely would. As it is, the defense lawyers are all screaming government conspiracy. If I'm indicted, Judge Morgenroth won't have much choice but to grant it, right?”

Augustine cupped his jaw with his hand and raised his eyebrows. “It would seem so, yes. I'd have to check for a precedent to be certain.”

I'll bet you already have
.

“Anyway, I wanted you to hear me out on this, Tom, because I want to know what you think before I go to Ivers. I admit I've had my problems with you, but I think basically you're a fair guy and we both want the same thing. Right?” Tozzi watched his face.

“Naturally.” The lawyer's eyes were crinkling with warmth and understanding again, but it seemed a little forced now.

“So what do you think?”

“Well . . .” Augustine sat up straight. “Well, I think you're making a very serious allegation, and I think you should carefully consider the consequences of making this allegation before you pursue it any further.”

Father knows best. Let's not be imprudent about this, Bud. Yeah, just watch me
.

“I do realize this is pretty serious business, Tom, but every time I think about Salamandra and his buddies getting off—which is exactly what's gonna happen if there's a mistrial ‘cause they're all gonna hightail it down to Brazil or someplace where nobody'll find them—I get sick to my stomach. Do you know what I mean? It's not just me I'm worried about. It's the trial too. These guys are guilty as sin. They should rot in jail. Especially Salamandra. But a mistrial . . .” Tozzi pursed his lips and shook his head. “You know, Tom, I'm not very religious, but I've been so frustrated with this whole situation, I've been thinking about going to church and praying for a miracle, a legal miracle. I'm serious. I
almost called one of my aunts to ask her if there was a patron saint of lawyers, so I could pray to him.”

Tozzi watched Augustine's face. It was suddenly like rock.

“You're under a lot of stress right now, Mike. People tend to be reckless when they're under this kind of pressure. I'd hate to see you have to suffer for something done in the heat of the moment.”

“Are you telling me I'm not thinking straight? That I'm crazy?”

“I don't know. Are you?” Augustine's eyes were glinting behind the stone mask.

Tozzi shrugged. “To tell you the truth, sometimes I wonder myself.”

No one spoke. They just stared at each other in the dim light of the desk lamp. Discreet laughter could be heard coming from the party down the hall.

“Do you have any hobbies, Mike? Something that could take your mind off this situation. Some kind of relaxing sport. Like deep-sea fishing, maybe.”

So you could have me thrown overboard?

“I hate fishing. It's boring. Aikido is my thing. Remember?”

“Oh, yes. Of course. You told me. Well, I think you should find something to occupy your time. Pursuing this investigation independently will only get you into more trouble. I can almost guarantee it.”

“You think so, huh?” Tozzi looked at the floor and nodded. “Maybe you're right. Maybe I should let the system do its thing, stay out of it. If I'm innocent, I'm innocent, right? McCleery and the police will make sure of that, right?”

“That's right.”

More laughter, uproarious this time.

Tozzi glanced at the door “Must've been a good joke.”

Augustine didn't respond.

“Yeah, you're probably right, Tom. I should stay out of it, keep my cuckoo theories to myself. I mean, it's not like I
don't have anything to do. Christ, Uncle Pete's place is still a pigpen. I could fill three Dumpsters with all the shit that's in there.”

Augustine just stared at him. Cold eyes in a block of ice.

“Yeah, I ought to mind my own business before I make things worse. I'm supposed to be getting Uncle Pete's place in shape so we can put it up for sale. I ought to just concentrate on that. That's what I should be doing. . . .”

Tozzi looked at his shoes and nodded, letting his words trail off into the silence. He picked his head up suddenly and tapped his forehead.

“I just remembered something.” He reached into the side pocket of his jacket. “You're a classy guy, Tom. You probably know all about good rugs.” Tozzi pulled out a swatch he'd cut out of the big rug, a square patch about four by four, big enough to show some of the red background as well as the blue and beige pattern. Tozzi flipped it in his hand as if he were weighing a pancake, then he tossed it to Augustine like a Frisbee. It startled the prosecutor and he banged his chair into the desk as he jumped to avoid it. It landed on his tie. Augustine peeled it off and dropped it on the desktop under the light of the lamp. The muscles in his neck were suddenly tight and well defined.

“This is what it looks like. You think it's worth much?”

All of a sudden Augustine looked like one of those stern old matrons hanging over the staircase, especially around the mouth. “I don't know anything about rugs.” He picked up the swatch and tossed it back to Tozzi.

Tozzi caught it and started weighing it again, flipping it up and down. “Too bad. I would've bet money that you knew a lot about rugs like this. Oh, well . . .”

Silence. Muffled voices drifted in from down the hall.

Tozzi nodded toward the door. “You think any of your guests know anything about Oriental rugs like this? Maybe I could go down and ask around. I'd be quick about it.” Tozzi flashed a grin. “Probably throw 'em for a loop, huh? They're
waiting for you to come in and make your pitch for their support in the next election, and here I come in with this rug business. Pretty funny . . . Oh, but what am I talking about? You just told me you're not gonna run for mayor. I guess I'm just not thinking straight these days.”

Tozzi stared at the patch of rug and studied it for a moment. “It is a nice rug, though. I bet some of those people down there would know something about good rugs.”

“I don't think so, Mike.”

“I dunno about that. I'll bet Reverend Hargreaves would. That was Reverend Hargreaves I saw out there, wasn't it? Who runs the outreach program for junkies up in Harlem. I have a feeling he'd know a lot about this kind of rug. Or he'd like to know.”

Augustine took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He lifted his chin and straightened his back. It was as if he were reinflating himself. “You know, Mike, I've always found that reasonable men can always come to an equitable compromise when they happen to be at odds on a given issue. Reasonable men are flexible. They realize that any particular problem has more than one solution.” A small smile graced his clenched jaw. “Why else do we have plea bargaining?”

He sat there smiling at Tozzi in all his Ivy League glory.

Bastard
.

Tozzi got up off the fainting couch. “You know, I've often wondered why we do have plea bargaining. It always seemed like used-car-lot justice to me. Maybe we could discuss it some time. Some other time.”

Tozzi moved toward the door and Augustine quickly got up.

“You don't have to see me out, Tom. I know the way.” He was still flipping the rug swatch in his hand. Augustine's eyes were glued to it.

“Here.” He tossed it back to Augustine, who reached out for it but missed again. It landed on top of the glass lampshade.
“You can keep it.” Tozzi let a grin spread across his face, slowly, like cream seeping into iced coffee. “So you don't forget me.” Tozzi opened the study door, and the conviviality of the party spilled in. “You better get back to your guests now, Tom.”

Augustine took the rug swatch off the lamp and put it in his pocket, glaring at Tozzi all the while. A piano started to play a vamp, and a few people applauded. Tozzi looked up and listened for a moment. “Take the ‘A' Train.” Gradually a few voices started singing along.

“Sounds like a good party. Have fun.”

Augustine pointed his Yale chin at Tozzi, his eyes glistening. “I will.”

The house was silent. It was late. Augustine couldn't sleep. He was sitting at his desk in the study, feet up, eyes closed, fingers spread out across his forehead, time suspended. He was having another one of his damn cluster headaches, and his left eye socket was throbbing. The rug swatch Tozzi had brought was on the blotter under the lamp. He forced his eyes open and gazed at it blankly, wondering what in God's name he was going to do, wondering what in God's name Tozzi was going to do. He kept running down worst-case scenarios in his mind, but he couldn't be sure if his scenarios were worst-case enough. His prospects for winning City Hall were becoming increasingly dimmer. Even if he got the money he needed from the Sicilians, Tozzi was now standing in the way. Tozzi knew, and he wasn't going to be quiet about it. Augustine considered the possibilities, the alternative routes, but no matter what, it all came down to that little nothing, Tozzi.